


spear and shield

by pelele



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: 1920s, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Rewrite, Developing Friendships, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Mostly Gen, Period-Typical Racism, What-If
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 06:19:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30051198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pelele/pseuds/pelele
Summary: what happens when anunstoppableforce meets animmovable object?☵ { | :::::::::::::::::::> ╽it’s the winter of ‘26, and amongst the snow, the bustle of the city and the rampaging beasts, it’s one Seraphina Picquery who Newt stumbles upon.
Relationships: Jacob Kowalski & Newt Scamander, Seraphina Picquery/Newt Scamander
Kudos: 1





	spear and shield

**Author's Note:**

> it's been years since I dabbled in this fandom, and I come back with this fic and to say: fuck Rowling

* * *

tell me ~~——~~ **what** happens when an _unstoppable force_ meets an **immovable object** _?_ _well,_ it goes a bit like _**this**_ …

* * *

Dear Theseus,

Forgive me for the lateness of my response. I hope I didn't worry you about my well-being or whereabouts. You'll be happy to hear that my trip to New York certainly faired _**far**_ better than I had imagined it would.

* * *

Newt Scamander dislikes traveling by ship. It's not that he gets seasick, but rather that his creatures do, and as such they rattle and pound against the locks of his suitcase in feeble but manic attempts to escape. Normally he would've hummed a soft lullaby, even whispered a reassurance to them that yes, they were approaching land soon, no need to fuss about; but a young couple had decided it important to sit themselves right next to him. From the looks of it, they didn't seem to speak a lick of English—whatever they did speak sounded strong and heavy, possibly Slavic, with too many rolls of their lips and slurs of the tongue that it seemed more like they were engaging in oral gymnastics rather than speaking. Still, Newt suspects even they would raise a few brows in concern at seeing the Englishman next to them seemingly speak to thin air. Or worse, they'd think he was wanting to speak with them. So he soldiers on, drumming random beats on the suitcase's worn surface whenever one of his creatures, mostly Dougal, makes their discomfort obvious.

Traveling by ship, and especially a Muggle ship, is not Newt's first choice, but it's the safest. Apparating from Spanish Guinea to Arizona isn't something even the most greatly skilled of wizards can afford to do, less they wanted to suffer worse than a mere splinching. It's also too dangerous to apparate such a distance with the creatures as a side-along. If a wizard can get terribly sick traveling that way, he fears what it would do to his beasts.

There's also the matter, almost secondary compared to rest, but no less important, of Newt carrying a plethora of unregistered and mostly illegal magical creatures to a foreign country where their ownership was banned and punishable by law.

Back in England, he would be harshly reprimanded, perhaps given a hefty and frankly ridiculous fine. Maybe, if they find some of the others and are in a particularly good mood that day, he'd even be stripped of his job. His brother Theseus would've had his ear all but literally chewed off, scolded for the actions he couldn't control of a little brother he barely saw. Newt hopes the additional contents to his suitcase never came to light, or at least not until he's sure there would be no repercussions. He doesn't desire a repeat of his and Theseus' last letters.

But in America? Even if it is his job to study and write about magical creatures around the world, there would be no excuse if he was found toting around the nundu or acromantula. He knows of their rules and regulations, all perfectly built to create the illusion that there was no magic of any sort existing. Wizardkind lived more safe of exposure, but only because of the fear they had instilled in them of Muggles. A simple wand left behind was seen as a possibly grievous breach, if anyone saw something even as innocent as Billywig flying around then he feared what would happen. Of course, his creatures were well behaved and all, but they were also smarter than wizards gave them credit for. His minds flashes back to Sudan, the chaos that ensued as Iphigenia, one of the graphorns had made its way out of the case.

One of the latches pops open, the sound almost painfully loud as it draws him back from his memories. He'd been so lost he hadn't realized that he'd dug his nails into the leather surface of the case, almost enough to make marks. Newt tightens his grip on the handle and flips the latch shut. Something in his stomach does a revolting churn. The young couple didn't even notice the latches opening.

Pushing an errant curl behind his ear, he decides not to dwell on that. He reminds himself that leaving the case behind is not a luxury he can afford. His beasts would behave this time around. What had happened back in Sudan was an unfortunate accident. And besides, Newt won't stay for long. He would soon arrive in New York, travel to Arizona with as much haste and as discreetly as possible to liberate Frank and then make it back to London before anyone would even miss him. With that in mind, he relaxes, letting the Statue of Liberty cast her tall shadow over them as they pass her by.

Finally, the ship reaches its destination. Children eagerly tug their parents to see the crowds of people at the dock, the tall structures that dotted the horizon. People chatter with excitement as the Temeresi reaches the docks. Newt remains the only one seated, and watches as the sun, fighting to be seen against the heavy clouds and buildings that seem to graze the sky, casts a sickly light that turns everything pale gray and yellow. Once again his suitcase rattles, this time with more urgency.

"Settle down, all of you. We're finally here. It won't be for long." His breath comes out in puffs of cold air as he speaks. Even the chill of the city was different from London's own winters. Perhaps after this, he would travel somewhere south. The Caribbean or maybe even further down, to Brazil. There are books there, people who are wise and who Newt would love to learn from.

The rest of his arrival is uneventful, and his creatures thankfully behave. No latch pops open, nothing rustles, there isn't even a sound coming from them. No need to make his suitcase "Muggle Worthy". Newt will have to reward them for being so well-mannered this time around. For now though, he simply gives a fond pat to the worn surface of his case and strides away, joining with the crowd of city.

Newt gawks at his surroundings as he makes his way through the slowly filling streets. It has been a long time since he's been in a city quite like this, and compared to his home in London, it seems like another world. He offers weak apologies as he bumps into people—or rather, they bump into him—too busy staring at the buildings and houses and crowds, jumping over small puddles and side-stepping as to not step on them. Dull and gray in the winter morning, Newt wouldn't quite call New York beautiful, but it has something underneath, something that thrums and begs to be seen. The city is almost a living, breathing creature itself, and just as restless. Even with it being morning, what the city lacks in sunlight it makes up for bright billboards and buildings showcasing their lit rooms.

Speedily walking men and women in serious, dark suits shove him around, no doubt with important places to be and more important things to do than apologize to the man in a worn, ill-fitting suit. Newt, who is never one for self consciousness in regards to his clothes, picks at the length of his worn, frayed coat. Certainly, he looks like Alicanto in a flock of mundane pigeons.

He doesn't give much thought to that, because his attention is quickly taken by a large gathering across the street. In front of a bank, a crowd congregates to hear what sounds like a woman yelling passionately, in possession of a fine set of lungs. Newt can't see her from that far away, but he can see the large banner, towering above the crowd like a beacon. Emblazoned on it is a drawing of two hands, each holding something in them, but it‘s hard to tell with the distance.

It's his curiosity which gets the better of him, already stepping onto the road, eyes firmly locked on the bank. Whatever it is, the people there are enthralled, not looking or moving away. Newt's so focused on them and straining to find the woman, that he doesn't notice the car speeding by, its driver making no move to swerve for him.

A sharp skidding sound fills the air and someone shrieks. There's a flash of black before the world spins on its axis and strong hands grip Newt by the collar, pulling him back to the pavement. The movement isn't quick enough to stop him from being splashed from head to toe. Newt lands flat on his back on the asphalt, teeth clacking together from the impact against his skull. He grimaces, tasting blood and rancid water on his tongue, and spits it out with no regard for the people who gave him disgusted looks.

"Are you alright? That madman almost ran you over."

The world is spinning too fast for Newt to tell who's talking to him. The sun, now painfully bright, shines behind his savior and illuminates her—the voice is undoubtedly a woman's—like a halo, which stands out against the rest of her dark clothing and gives her an otherworldly appearance.

It takes him a few dizzying seconds, but soon his vision clears and the world finally stills. The woman's initial appearance gives way to an attractive, sharp-faced woman. What he thinks is the light playing tricks on her face are actually twin bleached curls, the near-white stark against her brown skin. The driver wasn't merciful to her either, and her coat clings to her body, wet from the splash of dirty water.

"I'm so terribly sorry. I—I wasn't paying attention to where I was going." Newt winces, both from the throbbing pain in the back of his skull and the unimpressed glare the woman gives him. Honestly nothing new to him. "Thank you. That certainly would've cut my trip short." Newt gives a half-grin that he hopes conveys humor at the whole situation.

She doesn't seem amused. Silently, she offers out her hand.

He gladly accepts it, but withdraws back with a yelp as a charge of electricity sparks against his palm. The woman draws her hand up, looking at it incredulously, like it had betrayed her in some way, or as if expecting to find a burn mark there. People give them a wide berth as they walk, seemingly unaware they're even there.

Newt clears his throat. "Sorry," he says lamely. "Static."

She offers her hand again, this time more tentatively, but nothing happens, miraculously enough, and Newt is surprised at her strength as she helps him stand on shaking legs, pulling him up as if he was weightless. Upright, she's far shorter than him, but her heels and the fabric wrapped around her head like a turban give her the appearance of being taller.

The woman measures him entirely, trying to meet his gaze, and Newt wishes he had listened more to the wizards back in the Ministry when they talked about buying more fashionable suits or robes. Her expression betrays nothing, but has a feeling she's certainly far less than impressed with what she sees.

"First time in New York," she asks as she wrings out her own coat. Newt would cast a quick charm to dry them both, if he weren't so sure MACUSA would swoop onto him like an owl on a mouse. The woman has that same look as every Auror or officer he's crossed paths with, sizing Newt up like she's trying to measure if he's an ally or prey.

Newt shakes out his curls and clears his throat, still embarrassed by the current that had coursed between them. "What gave it away?"

The woman places her hands on her hips. "It's the lights." At his confused face, she elaborates. "You look like you've never so many lights in one place."

There's a pause where Newt thinks she might say something else. Just as he opens his mouth, from across the street, the voices rise higher, louder. Although he still can't make them out, a flicker of something passes through the woman's eyes when she hears it, and Newt's almost compelled to ask if she's alright.

"Well, have a good day and… be more careful." She's gone then, before Newt can even say anything else, another faceless figure in the sea of swarming bodies.

Newt runs his free hand over the one holding the case, hissing as he touches his bruised and bloody knuckles. People once again shove him around, almost like the woman had some sort of magic of her own that repelled them all from her and with her gone, they're all mysteriously attracted to Newt.

"Alright", he mumbles, rolling his shoulders and pushing his hair back, the strands drying once under his touch. "Maybe this trip won't be as exciting as I expected it to be."

**Author's Note:**

>   * Equatorial Guinea wasn’t Equatorial Guinea up until 1968, the year of its independence. It’s a slight error in the film, seeing as in 1926, Río Muni and the island of Bioko were united as Spanish Guinea. Prior to that it was known as los _Territorios Españoles del Golfo de Guinea_
>   * Darfur is a region in western Sudan, once a sultanate, but which became a province of the country in 1916 after the Anglo-Egyptian expedition.
>   * Alicantos are ~~fucking magnificent~~ birds of Chilean mythology, originating from the Atacama desert. Their wings are described as being bright and metallic in color, they feed on silver and gold, and can bring miners good luck and lead them to find precious minerals.
>   * The whole purpose of this fic is to explore how the events of the film would change if instead of Tina and Queenie, Newt would have Seraphina and Jacob tag along instead. So if you’re waiting for either of the sisters to have a big role, I suggest you turn back.
> 



End file.
